


Good for the Soul

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Debi's upset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good for the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #11 under the pen name Laura Brush.

_"I'd say waitin' about the hardest job there is."_

 

Sergeant Derriman sighed heavily and leaned against the closed stall door.  Jingle Belle snorted through the fresh hay he'd just forked onto the cleaned floor and shook her head.

          "Well, it'll just have to do, missy," he told the mare.

          Jingle Belle looked up and whickered softly, her ears twitching forward.

          "And flirting is _not_ goin' to get you an extra cup of oats, you hussy."

          She shook her head, rattling her halter, then turned her back on the older man to root through the almost empty grain bucket.  Derriman chuckled and headed back to the coach house.  The other soldiers would be gathering, getting last minute chores done before they turned in for the night.  He sighed silently to himself, wishing he was with the Colonel and Omega teams A and B in the latest encounter with the aliens.  Earlier that afternoon Blackwood and McCullough left to join up with the soldiers… but he was stuck here… waiting.

          Stepping out of the barn he was surprised to find Debi McCullough pacing along the paddock fence.  Head down, shoulders hunched, fists shoved into the depths of her jean pockets, the teen targeted one dirt clod after another with the tip of her tennis shoe, kicking them across the open space.  On the top board of the fence an old Raggedly Ann doll sat slumped over, button eyes staring at the ground.

          Watching another clod sail across the space, Derriman headed for the fence, stopping next to the doll.  Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back and inclined his head toward the toy.  "So, Miss Ann, what do you suppose has gotten your friend in such a state?"

          He waited as Debi stomped past, ignoring him.

          "I see… so Ms McCullough decided to come out here and break dirt clods for fun, has she?"

          "No!" Debi shouted, turning to glower at the sergeant.  "I came out here to be _alone_.  Okay?"

          Derriman shrugged.  "I can understand that.  I need some time alone myself from time to time.  Usually when—"

          "Alone!  Can't I have just a little time _by myself_ without everybody asking me what's wrong?"

          The sergeant's eyes opened slightly wider.  "There's something wrong?"

          "No!  I—"  Debi stopped, her mouth snapping shut and pressing into a thin line that reminded Derriman of Ironhorse when he was ready to shit nails.

She stalked to the fence and grabbed for the doll.  Fingers wrapping around the toy's neck, she jerked it to her.  A sharp tearing sound stopped her, and Debi stared down at the torn dress.  Her eyes rounded, and her chin began to tremble.

          He watched as the tears welled up in Debi's blue eyes, then spilled over her flushed cheeks.  Stepping closer, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.  "You want to talk about it?"

          She shook her head, cradling the doll to her chest.

          "You know," Derriman said, walking her into the barn and over to a stack of hay bales.  "Things usually aren't as bad as we think they are."  He sat down, gazing up at her.

          "They won't tell me _anything_ ," Debi groaned.  The blue eyes came up, locking on the older man's.  "They treat me like a little kid.  I _know_ what they're doing.  I _know_ how dangerous it is, but they _never_ tell me anything.  I want to _do_ something.  I hate just _waiting_."  She stomped her foot.

          "Well now, Little Miss," he said, reaching out to snag her arm, guiding her to a bale.  "I'd say waitin's just about the hardest job there is."

          Debi nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

          "Nobody knows that better than a soldier.  You know what they say about the Army, don't you?"

          She shook her head.

          "It's hurry up and wait, everywhere you go."

          Debi glanced up, a brief smile passing over her face.  "Do you like it?"

          Derriman chuckled.  "Hate it," he admitted.  Reaching out, he rested a hand on the girl's shoulder.  "But I've gotten real good at it over the years."

          "I'm never gonna be any good at it," Debi said, taking a swipe at her damp cheeks.

          "It's a pretty scary place to be," Derriman said quietly.

          Debi nodded, then twisted and wrapped her arms around the older man's midsection, giving him a ferocious hug.  He hugged her close and let the tears run their course.  When she hiccupped and sniffled, he pushed her back and wiped her cheeks dry with a handkerchief tugged free of his back pocket.

          "Sometimes you get a little scared, don't you?"

          Debi nodded.

          "Yeah, me, too."

          The girl's head came up, her eyes going wide.  "You get scared?"

          Derriman nodded, reaching out to take the doll.  He turned it over in his hands, noting the rend in the blue denim dress.  "Yep, I sure do.  I get scared, and pis— mad as hell."

          Debi giggled.  "What do you do?"

          The sergeant's head came up and he grinned.  "Well now, that depends."

          "On?"

          "On the overall tactical situation," Derriman said, doing a passably good imitation of Ironhorse.

Debi giggled again.  "And?"

          "And I sometimes take me a long walk, or I clean a stall or two, or…"

          "Or?"

          He gave her a sad smile.  "Or spend my time thinkin' too much."

          "Me, too."

          He looked down at the doll again.  "So, let's go take care of this little problem and spend some of that time thinkin' about something else."

          Debi wiped her eyes dry and stood.  "Okay."

          Together the pair left the barn and headed for the coach house.  Entering, Derriman left Debi at one of the picnic tables in the large kitchen and disappeared for a few minutes.  He returned carrying the doll and a cigar box.  Several of the soldiers grinned as he passed them in the living room, then leaned forward to watch as he joined Debi at the table.

          With care he opened the box, removing a spool of black thread and a needle.  Snapping the thread, he handed it to Debi to thread.  She preformed the task and handed it back, smiling as he began to stitch the doll's torn dress.  Several snickers rolled in from the living room.

          Derriman looked up and scowled at the crinkled-folded eyes that watched him from behind newspapers, books, and comics.  He shot Debi a wink.

          "Every soldier worth his – or her – salt knows how to darn socks.  This is close enough.  Hell, it's even… good for the soul."

          "Yep," Debi said matter-of-factly.

          Derriman gave Debi a smile and the soldiers settled back into their usual routine.  "It's never as long as it feels, kiddo."

          "I know.  But it sure feels like it's forever."

          "Amen, kiddo.  Amen."


End file.
